


Celestial Biology 101

by PandaInTheStars



Series: Lucifer Oneshots [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Biology, Chloe KNOWS, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Post-Episode: s03e24 A Devil of My Word, Slice of Life, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 06:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaInTheStars/pseuds/PandaInTheStars
Summary: Chloe gets a crash course.





	Celestial Biology 101

~ 0 ~

Chloe Decker is reasonably sure that she’s cleared what had, at first, seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle. She can now acknowledge – and even talk about – the fact that her partner, Lucifer Morningstar, is the Devil, Satan, the Dark One, former King of Hell and former, former Angel of the Lord. But accepting _who_ her partner is has turned out to be less of an ordeal than accepting _what_ her partner is.

The former is a shock. The latter is a long string of small-but-still-crazy revelations, with seemingly no end in sight.

 

~ 1 ~

“Lucifer, how can you eat that stuff?”

Chloe is, of course, referring to the small package of overly processed brownie bars from the precinct’s vending machine. Lucifer stuffs his hand into the plastic packaging, pulls one out, and takes a satisfactory bite. He chews and swallows before answering.

“How can you not? They’re delicious.” He demonstrates his opinion by licking the crumbs off his fingers. The movement is slow and clearly intended to be sexual. Chloe very pointedly keeps her attention on his eyes.

“Sure. For about ten seconds. Then they make you sick. They’re just pure, pre-processed sugary nothing.”

Lucifer lifts an eyebrow and makes a magnanimous gesture. “Perhaps they make _you_ sick, Detective. Whereas I –”

Chloe grits her teeth. “Have a celestial constitution. Yeah, you told me when you explained how you are _not_ , in fact, a functioning alcoholic.” Lucifer grins. “So, what? It applies to calories and sugar too?”

The grin stays on Lucifer’s face. “Naturally,” he says flippantly. “Of course, all of the above is made easier by the fact that I don’t need to eat.”

“You…” Chloe blinks. This feeling of being swept overboard, of being knocked off-kilter, of having little bits of her orderly reality chipped away… it’s practically an old friend by now. “You… don’t need to eat?”

“Of course not,” Lucifer scoffs, as if it’s an obvious fact. ‘The world is round.’ ‘Two plus two equals four.’ ‘Lucifer Morningstar is an angel who doesn’t need to eat.’ “My existence would have ended rather quickly if that wasn’t the case. There’s no food in Hell,” he explains upon seeing Chloe’s confused expression.

“There’s no food in…?” _Quiet_ , her inner voice tells her. _Deal with one revelation at a time_. “But… you have to get your energy from somewhere, right? Is it like… plants? Do you photosynthesize?”

Lucifer fixes her with an offended expression. “No. I’m not like our friendly ficus over here.” He motions at Chloe’s desktop succulent, the latest in a long line of poor shrubs that all eventually succumbed to Lucifer’s liberal application of scotch. “I’m a celestial being. I draw energy from the universe itself.” He pauses, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. “I suppose… it is like light, in a way. Or… perhaps more like music.”

There are parts of Lucifer’s reality that Chloe knows she will never understand. This, apparently, is one of them. Still, Chloe is a detective, and it’s her job to extend her lines of inquiry as far as they can go. “Okay,” she says. “You don’t need to eat. But you sleep? You do need to sleep, right?”

Chloe vividly remembers the week when Lucifer _didn’t_ sleep. In retrospect it was one of Chloe’s worst weeks ever, for multiple reasons.

“Oh, yes. All living things need to rest. We all receive wear and tear in our daily lives. We need time for our bodies to repair that damage.”

Chloe ponders that concept for a few moments. “Wear and tear? But… you don’t age.” It isn’t exactly a question.

“No.”

And it’s as simple as that.

 

~ 2 ~

Later that week, Chloe is poring over case files in one of the precinct’s back rooms. The room is dedicated to old homicide cases that have yet to be digitized. She picks up the files one at a time, flicks through them, and then discards them off to the side after determining their non-relevancy.

Lucifer ‘helps’ by providing running commentary on each of these files.

“Bludgeoned to death by an Oscar trophy statuette,” he reads. “Blimey, now that IS a way to go! Who was the victim? The winner? Was the murderer a jilted nominee?”

Chloe rolls her eyes as she rifles through a few more files. “Neither,” she replies, remembering the case from her early days as a beat cop. “It was a weapon of convenience in the company that makes them.”

“Oh,” Lucifer sighs. He drops the folder onto the growing stack of rejected files. He’s clearly disappointed. “Pity. Nothing like a bit of drama during awards seas- _AH!_ ” His voice breaks into a bit-off yell.

Chloe’s head snaps up at the noise. “Lucifer? Are you okay?”

He pinches his brow and flaps his other hand at her, waving away her concern. “Sorry. It’s nothing. It’s fine.” He blinks a few times and shakes his head, as if clearing away a distressing thought.

Chloe narrows her eyes. “Are you sure? You can… tell me, remember?”

It fills Chloe with a perverse sense of relief: that Lucifer is sometimes just as uncomfortable with the current state of shared knowledge between them as she is. Perverse, because Lucifer has most likely never shared this much about himself with anyone else before. No one human, at least. The thought makes her sad.

On the other hand, maybe he just had a sudden headache. Who knows? Anything is possible at this point.

“It’s…” His eyes shift in the way Chloe knows means that he’s uncomfortable. “I just… heard a prayer.”

 _Anything_ is possible.

“A _prayer?_ ” Chloe repeats. She tries not to let disbelief color her tone. She tries, valiantly, to take Lucifer at face value these days. “Does that, uh… happen often?”

Lucifer runs a hand through his hair and blows out a loose sigh. “Yes, actually,” he says. “But they’re usually quiet little nattering things. Easy to ignore. This one was… well, louder is the wrong word. Stronger than most, I suppose.”

“People _pray_ to you?” Chloe asks. Then she backs up, reassesses. Duh. Satanism is a thing. Of course people pray to the Devil.

“Mm,” Lucifer replies noncommittally. “This person must really care about passing their exams. That felt almost like one of the old zealous cults.”

In the conference room later that day, Chloe can barely pay attention as the new acting lieutenant drones on and on about budgets and retirement parties and plans for renovation. Instead, her eyes are fixed on Lucifer. He’s sitting in front of her, not even pretending to care about the lieutenant’s presentation, playing on his phone.

 _Lucifer_ , she thinks. _Can you hear me?_

He doesn’t respond. Maybe he really _was_ pulling her leg this time. She knows he lies sometimes, for the sake of comedy, and justifies it to himself. But he’s been unerringly honest with her about his own nature lately and she _wants_ to believe him. She wants to trust her partner.

Maybe she’s not doing it right. What did Lucifer say? Pray _stronger?_ How on Earth is she supposed to do that?

 _LUCIFER!_ she yells in her own head, trying as best as she can to direct her thoughts towards the coif of black hair in front of her. _LUCIFER IF YOU CAN HEAR ME SAY SOMETHING OR ELSE I’LL TELL EVERYONE IN THE PRECINCT THAT YOUR FAVORITE SONG FROM FROZEN IS ‘LOVE IS AN OPEN DOOR.’_

Lucifer falls off his chair.

 

~ 3 ~

It shouldn’t take Chloe as long as it does to figure it out. It’s obvious in retrospect. But it’s not until Lucifer cites, verbatim, an encounter with a suspect from 18 months ago (the words, blocking, and miniscule details correct down to the cat-shaped buttons on the woman’s shirt) that it dawns on her: Lucifer has perfect recall.

She wonders if this is an angel thing or just a Lucifer thing. She doesn’t ask.

But she suspects it’s a Lucifer thing.

 

~ 4 ~

Lucifer has a driver’s license. Chloe isn’t quite sure why she’s surprised by this fact. She knows that Dan did a thorough background check on Lucifer at some point and everything came back clean and consistent – the only highly suspicious feature of his record being that it was only five years old. Perhaps it’s the incongruity of how normal the small, plastic card is… especially compared to the topsy-turvy nature of her reality these days.

Lucifer walks beside her down the brightly lit street. He’s eating the burrito he bought from the food truck they passed a couple blocks ago. “Believe me now, Detective?” he asks. A little guacamole sticks to his upper lip. “If you’d like further proof I can show you my social security card as well. I can even vote! And I have. And I will continue to do so.”

Chloe ignores him as she continues to study the card. He doesn’t have a right to look as good as he does in the license photo. She pities the poor DMV employees that had to put up with him. If he did, in fact, get this license at an actual DMV and not through more illicit means. “1976?” she asks, referring to the birth year printed on the card. “I’m assuming that’s not true.”

That would make Lucifer 41 as of this year. It’s a little older than she would have guessed. But, now that she thinks about it, it makes sense. That would make him 35 in 2011, the year that he… arrived.

“Oh, of course not,” says Lucifer. He’s finished his burrito and is now patting his mouth delicately with a napkin. “I’m much, _much_ older than that.”

“How much older?” Chloe asks. It’s something she’s wanted to know for a while, but she doesn’t like peppering Lucifer with unending questions about his celestial nature. She prefers to let these discoveries fall naturally in conversation, even if it blindsides her more often than not.

“It’s difficult to say,” Lucifer says. He tosses the burrito’s wrapper and the napkin into a nearby trash can. “I can’t tell you for sure. Suffice it to say I existed long before your galaxy’s spiral arms started spinning.”

What.

Chloe’s very impressed by how quickly she manages to recover the power of speech. “So… I guess the world’s not really 6000 years old then.”

Lucifer snorts. “I would think you of all people, Detective, wouldn’t believe that nonsense. Yes _of course_ the Earth isn’t 6000 years old. The age of this planet is measured in _billions_ of your calendar years, not thousands. There wouldn’t be enough time for all of the plate tectonics, the climatic cycles – evolution, even! – otherwise.”

Chloe is immeasurably relieved to have it confirmed that evolution is real. She can’t for the life of her say why.

“You’ve seen a lot of Earth’s history, then?” They’re still only halfway back to where Chloe parked her cruiser (finding parking that afternoon had been especially hellish). Why not use the interminable journey to brush up a little further on her Lucifer knowledge? And maybe satisfy a few of her other curiosities as well…

“All of it, Detective.”

Chloe takes a moment to think.

“Were dinosaurs really all green and brown and ugly-looking? Or did they have bright colors as well?”

“Oh, all sorts of colors, Detective. You should have seen the plumage! I don’t see why you should look so surprised. The ones flying around today are quite colorful too.”

 

~ 5 ~

“Lucifer?” Chloe calls as she steps over the elevator threshold and into Lucifer’s living room. “Lucifer, where are you? We’re going to be late!” Late to Detective Mulaney’s retirement party. She knows Lucifer doesn’t care about Det. Mulaney, but she also knows he cares about _her_ and her reputation in the department. It’s important that Chloe Decker and her civilian consultant partner show up on time to the old guard’s retirement party and make all the right noises.

“Lucifer!” she calls out again, a bit louder. She knows he’s here. She can hear the roar of an industry-quality blow dryer coming from the direction of the penthouse’s bathroom.

 _Of course_. Her flamboyant partner heard the word ‘party’ and instantly jumped to the conclusion that he had to be dressed to the nines for it. She can imagine him in front of his ceiling-high mirror, his long eyelashes fluttering over eyeliner drawn sharp as a knife. His suit will, no doubt, be crisp and dark – the highest quality – some designer label that must have cost a year’s worth of her salary. And a pop of color somewhere. His undershirt maybe, or his wingtips, or a pocket square that brings out the sparkle in his eyes.

Chloe shakes herself. The point _is_ … they’re going to be late.

The blow dryer abruptly cuts out. “Apologies, Detective!” says Lucifer’s disembodied voice. He sounds weirdly strained. “This always takes a little longer than one expects. Won’t be a moment!” The blow dryer starts up again and Chloe refrains from rolling her eyes. She settles, instead, on tapping her foot impatiently.

Several minutes pass.

Okay, that’s enough. Chloe knows Lucifer has a lot of hair that he cares a _great deal_ about, but surely it can’t take THIS long to style it the way he likes. Choosing to take a leaf from her partner’s book, Chloe takes a deep breath, blows it out, and then marches into his bedroom, through his walk-in closet, and into his bathroom.

Chloe is… unprepared for the sight that greets her.

Lucifer is, indeed, wearing a very stylish dark navy suit with a sky blue pocket square. His hair is coiffed and his makeup is perfect. He’s also winged – a pair of massive, bright white wings are sticking out of his back, _through_ his suit jacket somehow. He’s twisted in an extremely awkward position, obviously trying to blow dry his wings. His other hand is carding through his feathers, straightening them as the blow dryer knocks them out of position.

Chloe is not… stunned. She knew, intellectually, that Lucifer had wings. She’s seen his feathers before, bloodied and lifeless. But seeing his wings ( _his_ wings), real and huge and alive and _attached_ …

Well.

It’s something else entirely.

Lucifer twists and turns as he tries to get a better angle with the blow dryer. His wings shake and flap in aborted attempts to keep him balanced. He sees Chloe on his third rotation under the blow dryer’s electrical cord. The blow dryer shuts off again and Lucifer’s mouth falls open.

“Ah, Detective!” he says. He sounds unusually sheepish. “Sorry about this. The blasted things always take the longest to dry.” His wings twitch in irritation.

Chloe’s brain moves at lightning speed. Okay. So. Angel, right? Angels have wings. Angels have wings that they wash in the shower, just like they wash their perfectly styled hair. And so… those angels would then need to blow dry those wings, right? If they’re in a hurry. It can’t be comfortable to have damp wings tucked against your back. Even when they’re not visible… and how does _that_ work, anyway? How can Lucifer sometimes have wings and sometimes not? She doesn’t know… Now definitely doesn’t seem to be the right time to ask.

“Do you need any help?” is what Chloe says. Lucifer looks like he’s about to fall over. He’s halfway to getting tangled up in the blow dryer’s cord.

Lucifer blinks at her. And then he smiles slowly.

“Yes, Detective. I would be most grateful.”

 

~ +1 ~

“I’m so sorry, Detective,” says Lucifer. It’s all he seems capable of saying.

Chloe says nothing. She just squeezes Lucifer’s hand harder. They both sit at Dan’s bedside. Her ex-husband’s breathing is even. His condition is stable.

Four hours ago, he suffered a gunshot wound to the shoulder.

Chloe got the call at the precinct. Impersonal, through the police scanner. _Units 814 and 831 civilian consultant_. An active shooter. Man down. Serious condition. Chloe didn’t bother listening to the whole report. Her mind went blank as she turned the key in the cruiser’s ignition. Her fingers flexed and tensed over the steering wheel. She flashed her lights and broke every speed limit on the way to R.R. UCLA Medical Center.

The thought finally broke through as she approached the ER: What if she’d lost them? What if this was the end? What if this was the nightmare that had plagued her ever since her dad died, made real once again? Her ex-husband (her friend!) and her partner. Her _partner_. Gone together in one night.

When Chloe finally arrived, Dan was in surgery.

And Lucifer didn’t have a scratch on him.

Chloe’s brain short-circuited. She had been _so worried_. She was still worried! Dan was in surgery and she didn’t know what had happened and what if he was hit somewhere vital… and why was Lucifer okay? _How_ was Lucifer okay? What was going on? Chloe had seen Lucifer get shot before. She had seen him bruised and bleeding. She had seen him burned and stabbed and choked to within an inch of his life. Why should she have expected this time to be any different?

Hours later, after Maze arrived to take Trixie home, he sits beside her. He holds her hand. He’s here. He’s alive.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have told you.”

Chloe can’t fathom the implications right now. She can only grip his hand and revel in the pulse she feels threading through his warm skin. She doesn’t have enough room to be angry. Not when she’s this relieved. And she can’t be a detective right now. She can’t question why he’s here. Beside her. Holding her hand like it doesn’t mean… Like it doesn’t mean he’s…

Mortal. Breakable. Ephemeral, like he shouldn’t be. Like he _isn’t_. Usually.

She inhales. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day. Or the next. Or the _next_. She’s learning new things about her partner every day. This is just… another one of those things.

She says: “I’m just glad you’re both safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ObliObla and Miah_Arthur for the beta!


End file.
